Beneath The Skin Episode 48

Mouse’s smile made something spike inside him. William was talking but he couldn’ t concentrate on what he was saying.

“... and I always eat Maltesers when I’m building Lego.”

Walt’s attention settled back on the boy. “You mean you want me to provide the Maltesers?”

The kid nodded, his spoon in his mouth. Walt smiled. “It’s a deal. But there’s just one thing I have to do first.”

His hands were shaking so violently, he let Mouse dial the number. It was the only number he knew by heart, and he dictated it to her. She handed him the receiver, squeezed his shoulder.

“Mam! It’s me...” He heard his own breathing in the mouthpiece, scared and shallow.

“Robert?” It was a whisper he’d barely caught. His grip tightened on the phone and something swelled in his upper chest. “Aye, it’s me, Mam.”

“Oh my God! We’ve been so worried, son! Here’s your dad. Pete? Pete!” Her voice rose to a shout and he winced.

“It’s our Robert! Steven’s here as well. We’re minding the bairns and he’s just back from... What? It’s Robert!”

A muffled handover, and Steven’s voice came on the line, his accent as rich and broad as it had been when they were lads, before he went off to college.

“Ee, Robert! Where aya, man? We’ve been worried sick!”

Walt tried to smile but his mouth wouldn’t stretch. “Steven, I’m that sorry, man. I wanted to get in touch but...”

His mother’s voice was hectoring in the background. Is he all right? Ask him if he’s all right. Tell him we had to call the police.

“Ee, man, divvent worry. Where are ya? Am coming to get ya.”

We filed a missing persons. Tell him! It was on the news.

“No. No. I’m in Edinburgh. I’m fine, I’m just...”

The voice on the other end was firm. “Stay where you are. I can be in Edinburgh by...”

“No, Steve.” Equally firm.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m all right. Honestly, I’m all right.”

He put the receiver down. His heart was thumping and the swelling feeling in his chest hurt. I’m all right.

Spur of the moment William was sitting on his bed with about eight boxes of Lego at his feet. Of the other boxes – the red box and the black box and the rest – there was no sign. This felt healthy.

They were in the top tier of the doll’s house, so cramped it was as if the walls had been squeezed together after the house was built. Walt chose a small wooden stool, painted with an image of the sun, and sat down carefully.

“I always knew the sun shone out of my backside,” he quipped.

“My mum wouldn’t like you talking like that.”

Walt picked up a Lego box and examined the picture. Some kind of Mad Max automobile piloted by chubby yellow men with boot-black hair. One of them had a moustache and looked like a Colombian drug lord.

“So where’s the train? Bring it on.” William put his head to one side. “Are you really going to help me with this?” “Sure. I said I would.”

William’s wardrobe door was a collage of frayed stickers, photographs and drawings. Miles of Sellotape glistened by the light of a 40-watt bulb.

The one tiny window was pretty useless; too high up to provide an outlook, too poky to illuminate the room naturally.

There was a daubed painting of a horse sitting on a rocket; another one of two females, a baby and several cats. A colour photograph of a toddler on a beach caught Walt’s eye.

“Is that you? Which beach was that?” William nodded slowly. “I was three then, so I don’t remember.”

The idea of a family holiday, of the baby William making sand pies and eating ice lollies seemed bizarre, like imagining the Addams Family on Blackpool Pier.

Did Auntie Alys take Hector the stuffed cat with her, wrapped in a bath towel? He tried to visualise Mouse in a bikini; a shiny, smiling Mouse with a teak suntan and a flower in her hair. A delicious frisson ran through his body.

“Kid, I’m going to be around for a while.

Bring on the Lego train.”

“But you were going to leave, weren’t you, the day Granddad went missing? I saw your bag stuck behind Shackleton.” “You knew I was planning to leave?” The kid nodded. He was chewing his bottom lip, the way he did when he was upset.

“How did you know? It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“I went through your bag.”

“No joke?” Walt tried to hide his amusement.

“I just wanted to find out more about you. That’s when I saw the rope for the first time and I thought... Well, I watch the films they put on in the afternoon. There’s always a man like you in them.”

William had been talking to some spot on the carpet. Now he looked up, catching Walt’s eye.

“There’s always a man who doesn’t stick around for long.”

Walt’s heart contracted painfully. He tried a little humour.

“You think I’m Clint Eastwood? Make my day, punk!”

He stuck out his jaw and stroked the stubble, but the joke fell flat. “They’re usually robbers.”

“I see.”

“Or murderers.”

Walt narrowed his eyes.

“Let’s get back to the Lego. Trust me, kid. I’m going nowhere and I’m not planning to do anything bad. Not even to myself.” The declaration was oddly calming. William’s face broke into a smile, and he upended one of the boxes. Coloured bricks spilled out across the floor.

Walt took a deep breath and picked up the instruction leaflet.

Building the train was more complicated than he had thought and after 10 minutes he was dying for a cigarette.

He persevered though, because the kid was obviously totally into it, correcting his mistakes and singing some funny little song.

More tomorrow.

Beneath The Skin, by Sandra Ireland, is published by Polygon, £8.99. Her latest book, Sight Unseen, is out now.

It was a whisper he’d barely caught. His grip tightened on the phone and something swelled in his upper chest